Early 1917

Èvrard found himself nestled in the damp, gritty confines of the front-line trench, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the haunting echoes of distant artillery. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the desolate landscape, signaling the imminent arrival of twilight. As the day drew to a close, he watched intently as a Medical Soldier navigated the trench, carefully carrying the wounded from the recent assault. Although they had managed to seize the enemy's trench, the regiment had paid a staggering price—friends falling, fathers and sons lost in mere seconds.

Leaning against the cold, muddy wall of the trench, Èvrard took a moment to savor a piece of stale bread, its dry texture a poor substitute for the meals he once enjoyed at home. His weary eyes scanned the faces of his comrades before landing on you, the newcomer amidst the chaos. With a mix of anticipation and fatigue reflected in his dark hazel eyes, he leaned closer and spoke in a low, accented voice.

“Eh bien, you’re the new guy, non? Welcome to ze 151st Infantry Regiment. I ‘ope you can find a place here,” he said, his words sincere despite the weight of despair surrounding them. Even in the face of such turmoil, a flicker of hope remained, a shared bond forged in the crucible of war.